


But I'm Not Like Those Other Types, Baby

by Pastelglitchesxx



Series: They Hunger For The Taste (Of Glamour And Waste): Jane/Rita AU [1]
Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: 1970s, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aromantic Crazy Jane, Asexual Crazy Jane, Bisexual Rita Farr, Comedy Drama, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, I'm Bad At Tagging, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Crazy Jane, Lesbian Oriented Aroace Crazy Jane, Neopronoun Lesbian Crazy Jane, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Queerplatonic Relationships, Roommates, She/Her And Xe/Xyr Pronouns for Crazy Jane, Team as Family, Transgender Rita Farr, basically rita comes to terms with jane and her alters, more specifically their raging queerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastelglitchesxx/pseuds/Pastelglitchesxx
Summary: “Rita Farr. The pleasure’s all yours, I’m sure.”Suffice it to say, she wasn’t spared a glance.“Something smells like dusty queefs,” Crazy Jane bit, and disappeared up the stairs.If Rita had to pinpoint when she first fell in love with Jane, it was probably there. Which was as embarrassing as it sounded.Or, the one where Rita has to get used to Jane and her system living in Doom Manor. Set in 1978, so old terminology and media and time-appropriate events are referenced.
Relationships: Crazy Jane & Larry Trainor, Crazy Jane/Rita Farr, Penny Farthing/Hammerhead, Rita Farr & Larry Trainor
Series: They Hunger For The Taste (Of Glamour And Waste): Jane/Rita AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175111
Kudos: 7





	1. Some Girls Like Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, this is going to be the first in a long series. I haven't got it all figured out yet, so suggestions will most likely be adapted; feel free to comment whatever canon compliant scenario you can imagine. This first installment is, obviously, pre-canon, but there will be bouts of canon in future parts. I have some personal stuff going on (depressive episode and the intense desire to slowly wither away in a forgotten corner and die alone y'know how it is), and as such this series will be a long work in progress. As this series actually has a structure and isn't anthropology-based, you'll probably need to read all if not most of them though? Anyways, enjoy folks! All titles featured in this series will be from the song Bloody Creature Poster Girl by In This Moment.
> 
> Trigger warnings! Ableism; mentions of transphobia, homophobia, biphobia, rape, Sybil, currently inaccurate terminology, and accusations of faking disorders (DID in this case) and that having multiple personalities automatically makes you dangerous (it doesn't, Hammerhead's behavior is eventually explained). Just ask and I'll add whatever warning you need.

_1978, noon_

She held out her hand, “Rita Farr, the pleasure’s all yours, I’m sure,” and painted her kindest, most elegant smile. 

Suffice it so say, she wasn’t spared a glance.

“Something smells like dusty queefs,” Crazy Jane bit, and disappeared up the stairs.

If Rita had to pinpoint when she first fell in love with Jane, it was probably there. Which was as embarrassing as it sounded.

_1978, the following week_

“Jane, can you turn it down please? Please?!” 

“Sorry, what?” snarled a cheeky voice from inside the closed room. 

Rita knocked on the door again. “Jane!” 

“Sorry, sweetie, what was that? Can’t hear ya. Speak louder, superstar!” 

Rita seethed. _“Open up your fucking door, Jane!”_

Another bitter, mocking laugh. The crude music only turned louder, if you could even call it music. It sounded more like men just screaming into cheering, echoing rooms. Jane didn’t bother with The Beatles, no, she preferred metal trash! 

Rita stabbed her ears with her fingers and frowned at the door. She scoffed to herself, before turning on her heel and making a beeline for the kitchen.

Who does that woman think she is? The manners of that one! Had the world forgotten how to be polite while Rita isolated herself here in this little hell-mansion? Rita _fucking_ Farr, still slumming it in fucking _Ohio._ God, look at what she had become! People had no respect for each other these days. Or maybe that was a trait unique to the absolute _hulligan_ Niles threw into their home.

Rita was too focused on making a margarita (and with good reason! That _“Jane”_ girl was loud and eccentric and possibly the metahuman embodiment of a headache!) to notice Larry. He quickly followed after her amble, entering the kitchen not a moment after her. She could hear his steps but didn’t bother looking over her shoulder. She finished mixing the drink, impaled the lime on the cup’s edges, and quickly downed half of it. 

Usually, Rita busied herself with savoring the cocktail, which was probably the best thing to come out of the 30s. This time, though, that quirky little devil woman wouldn’t get out of her thoughts. How could Jane so easily break the rules? Rita swore she’d bring trouble to their doorstep. Rita didn’t like trouble, that wasn’t how she was raised, she was the ever-elegant Rita Farr: star of stage and screen! 

Maybe it was because Rita had tiptoed through her entire life, terrified of fucking up, of somebody finding out, of someone finding her true birth certifate, the one her parents had burned— especially before a certain surgery. She couldn’t even have fucking sex before the secret operation because, well, what if the partner told? What if they recoiled in disgust? Nowadays, Rita had other things to worry about, but they were still tied up in her body, in her self image. She _had_ to wear stylish skirts and look presentable. Fuck, she’d made an entire career out of sitting still and looking pretty! That’s what women were good for, and she wanted to be a real woman, didn’t she? A real, full-blown, complete woman. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter what her doubts whispered, she _had_ to be a woman. That was who she was. Rather, who _Rita Farr_ was. No one gave a shit about Gertrude Cramp, after all. 

And good women were only supposed to have their thoughts caught on men.

Rita took the lime off the cup with her teeth and chewed it so roughly that it was practically liquid when she gulped it down.

Finally, she turned to Larry. Her back slouched against the kitchen counter (because she was a person that _slouched_ now!) and her fingers harshly gripped the tabletop. She took another swift swallow of the glass in her free hand.

Larry watched her expectantly. Because of _course_ he knew how much the newcomer would already frustrate Rita.

“You know what she is?” Rita demanded.

Larry sighed through his nose. “What is she, Rita?”

“A loose woman, that’s what!” Rita hissed out. “Who does she think she is? Back in our day, I swear, behavior like hers would never be tolerated!”

“It still mostly isn’t,” Larry murmured. Then he paused for a moment, trying to think before he began again. After a moment, he went on, with a harder, prouder tone in his muffled voice. “I mean, she’s probably been in more asylums and holding cells more times than even she remembers. But… I read the newspapers, Rita, and all this amazing stuff is happening, really! Right outside this place. Gay liberation, the sexual revolution, it’s real progress. I think it’s good Jane can afford to be herself and at least has some people backing her up, even if they’re mostly inside her.”

“What, so that gives her permission to act like an asshole?”

Larry shrugged. “All I know is the times _are_ changing.”

“Yes, I’m painfully aware of that, thank you very much!” Rita rolled her eyes. She let herself stir for a while, growling under her breath. Then she shook her head again. Everytime she hoped she switched the topic of her thoughts, it only rewired back to Jane. Sexual revolution and gay liberation, Larry says? That would have never flown in Rita’s day! How many sacrifices did she have to make to get where she was? And now the youthful were just getting it for free?! It wasn’t _fair._

(Perhaps what wasn’t fair was that she had to make any sacrifices at all in the name of who others told her to be.) 

Jane got to get bailed out of all her messes. For once, maybe Rita would like to misbehave! Nobody ever asked her if she wanted to have fun. And, fuck, if Jane didn’t make it all so alluring! Christ, why wouldn’t these thoughts go away?! Rita would never be a firestarter on her own. Maybe if she had Jane to do it with her . . . Rita’s cheeks turned pink. _“Fucking hell—!”_

After a moment of silence, Rita sipped the cocktail. “I bet Niles doesn’t even know her real name,” she mused bitterly. “He takes in stray after stray, we _have_ to expect it’ll bite back one day. That woman could be dangerous! Who knows what she’s capable of! I mean, 64 superpowers, Larry? My god, that’s insane!” Rita set her margarita down. _“.. She’s_ insane.”

“You can’t— I don’t think you can talk about… people like _her,_ like that, anymore,” he said.

“What even are people like her?!” Rita rocked herself toward him. “She’s not like you, she doesn’t _just_ have other things living in her body, she has multiple personalities! How do we know when Jane is Jane or when she’s some other part of her? Is she even a her? She dresses like a man, Larry!” 

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped back.

The side of her face dropped. She spun her back to him and quickly took her cheek into her palm, trying to keep her skin together.

Larry’s breathing hitched. “God, Rita, I’m sorry!” She felt his warmly bandaged hand on her back. “I didn’t mean that. I-I’ve only ever seen you as a woman, I promise, I never would have guessed you weren’t born like that if you hadn’t told me. I’ll never tell anyone, I swear on my life, and you— I-I’m sorry,” he gushed anxiously. “I’m so, so sorry.”

She supposed that’s what guilt and envy does to people.

“... I know,” Rita said quietly. “And, thanks. For that.”

“You shouldn’t have to thank me for it. It should be common decency.”

Rita shook her head and regained her calm composure. “... If you ask me, there’s something,” she sighed, “a little _queer_ about her, too.” Her hands found her hips. 

Larry was quiet for a moment. “What’s wrong with that? I mean… the times—” 

“Are changing, good for the fucking times, then!” Rita scoffed. Her clear mind disrupted again, and she took another swallow of alcohol. “But a— a _lesbian,_ not that there’s anything wrong with that, living in our house? I don’t agree with the law, but gay sex is still illegal. What if she brings someone over? Anybody finds out, and we’ll be raided, possibly arrested! I will _not_ have my picture on a fucking _mugshot!”_

“Even if it was for a mugshot, your picture would still look as beautiful as ever,” Larry offered. 

She snapped her fingertips on his wrist. “Your flattery won’t work right now, Larry. You know how we were raised! Women need men for literally everything, men only need women as housewives and sex machines. Of course to hell with all that, but who knows what lesbians were taught!” 

Rita gasped suddenly and put a modest hand over her cleavage. “What if she hits on me?” 

“According to Jane, lesbians don’t actually like straight women as much as everyone says.” 

“She’s actually gay?!” Rita’s eyes widened. Then a frown caught her face. “Wait, you talked to her about this?”

Larry groaned and walked over to slouch on the counter beside Rita. “She had a pin on her jacket, Rita. All I did was ask her what it was. No, I didn’t tell you anything about you; yes, that includes how much you’ve complained about her. And in case you didn’t hear me the last time, which wasn’t even five minutes ago, that includes your secret.” 

Rita blinked. “... There’s a fucking pin for lesbianism now?” 

Larry crossed his hands. “Jane said all you have to do is look at a girl’s fingernails for that.” He snorted out a muffled and cheeky giggle. 

Rita rolled her eyes again as he whistled to himself in amusement. She snapped her fingers and beckoned him on. 

“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Uh, the pin was, uh, a-a _pronoun_ pin, yeah. Uh, _xe-slash-xyr,_ that’s what it said. And then she— uh, _xe_ went on this whole rant about pronouns not equaling something called gender identity and that she was a woman and that the girls she dated didn’t get it. Kind of a spontaneous coming out, I guess. She said she uses she, too, though. I don’t really understand what she meant, but I think it means we’re supposed to call her _xe_ and _xyr_ sometimes.”

“Pronoun pin,” Rita echoed thoughtfully. She let herself do nothing but breathe for a moment. “... Jane does both, huh? I didn’t know you could do that. That’s a thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Larry said, standing up straight as if flustered. His voice was more shaky than enraged. “Why are you asking _me?_ It’s not my business. Jane can be whatever, use whatever, and do whatever she likes. We don’t exactly get a say in what she does with her—their?—body.”

 _“I—!”_ Rita paused. The floor caught his gaze. Rita turned her head away from him. Finally, she sucked in a breath. “... No, you’re, uh, you’re right. I don’t care what she calls herself— what, um, xyr calls… xeself? Fuck, we’ll have to ask her how to use these.” Rita made a mental note to make Larry do it. “So she’s not transexual?” 

Larry shook his head apologetically. 

“Don’t pity me, Larry. It doesn’t matter anyways.” Rita ignored the disappointment that swam in her gut. “... Wait, can there be male personalities?”

“Uh, I don’t really know. We didn’t talk about them, considering xe stormed into xyr room after the whole pronoun rant.” Even as his glasses protected Rita from his eyes, Rita could practically hear them narrow by tone alone. “Why?”

Rita tried to shrug uncaringly. “They’re men in a woman’s body.”

He gave her such a sad look that Rita internally groaned. “What is even the name of the thing she has anyways?” She switched the subject. “The disorder personality thing. Do you know anything about it?”

“I read _Sybil.”_

“And _Sybil_ is what, exactly?”

“It’s a book about a woman with multiple personalities,” Larry explained. Rita nodded along, hoping he wouldn’t be his vague self. Thankfully, he continued. “It says that the reason she has them is because she was abused by her mother. Um, _sexually_ abused, when she was young.”

Rita’s throat felt dry. “It’s caused by childhood rape?”

“I don’t know if that’s the only way you can get it, but that’s how Sybil did.” 

“Ah.” Rita hmm-ed to herself and tried to take another drink of the margarita, but realized she’d already finished it off. A sigh escaped her lips, which felt like they were about to crack, and was thankful she had been to centered on her desire to get drunk as fuck to put the leftover ingredients away. She set to work making another one. “Now I know why she doesn’t want to be her. Poor thing. Those other personas of hers, they’re basically just masks, all because she doesn’t want to be herself anymore. I mean, that’s understandable,” she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “Her disorder is probably fake anyways.”

“Niles says it’s real,” Larry argued. “And they’re not _personas._ They’re personalities. Apparently, Niles actually met one of them when he found Jane, and according to him, there’s a stark difference between those two. He said it’ll be mostly the same for all of them. We’ll basically be living with 64 new roommates instead of one, who all happen to share a body.”

Rita closed her eyes and processed that for a moment. Going from two, sometimes one, housemates (excluding the thing inside Larry) to 66 in just a fucking day. It was hard to remember her life before this; she supposed that’s why she always watched her old pictures, making sure she didn’t forget everything that had been ruined for her. She used to be the princess of starlettes in her own right, and now she was a forgotten blob of melted skin and shared her home with a crippled explorer, a mummy, a disturbed lesbian, and the 63 people in xyr body.

Rita didn’t bother pinning the lime on the drink and immediately took three chugs. “You never answered the name of her disorder.”

Larry jumped before she did and Rita frowned at him. Before she could ask him what was wrong, a voice erupted from behind their backs.

“They’re calling it _‘hysterical neurosis, dissociative type’_ nowadays.” 

Rita spun around to find Jane, stopped in the middle of the hall, her back pressed against the kitchen door frame. She looked like she was chewing on something; by the wrapper she let fall on the floor, Rita guessed it was bubblegum. 

Larry looked her up and down. Rita hadn’t seen her that day—Jane was barely out of her room, only venturing to use the bathroom and steal food, clothing and whatever else counted as self-isolation supplies—but by the look on her friend’s face, Rita guessed it was not the outfit Jane had been wearing when Larry saw her last. “Are you, uh, you?” he asked. 

Jane blew a bubble as he spoke, and it popped once he was done. “Yeah, it’s me. I guess the Chief told you bubblegum is a clear sign of Flit entering the game? Damn, who knew more than one of us can like something?” 

“He also told us that some of the others pretend to be Jane sometimes.” Rita set down her newly-made drink and put her hands on her hips. “Especially when they need to figure out a situation, or feel threatened, or are in unfamiliar territory.” She gestured around them. “Such as the Manor?” 

Jane blinked, only once, quick but somehow still slow, like a cat relishing watching its prey. Then her frown turned into a smile; Rita didn’t really know what a Jane-smile looked like, but this was _not_ what she imagined. It looked instead like a pop star grinning to her fans during a concert.

“You caught me!” Not-Jane giggled. She sounded almost like a— a _child?_ Was that even possible? Suddenly she was in front of Rita, looking into her eyes and giving her a small, unphased smile. “Hey, Jane’s been called worse than insane, y’know. Better not hear you call her a dyke! Lots of those in here,” the girl tapped her temple, her laugh coming to a charming end. “I mean, Jane’s not like us. Like, Jane’s gay, but not in, like, the gay way. She’s gay in the she’s nothing way.” Flit shook her head slightly. “Oh, right, that’s the word; a barbie lesbian!” 

She glanced away and began mumbling under her breath. “Isn’t a bambi when, like, a gay guy turns straight? No? Oh, yeah. I always thought it sounded biphobic, too! No, no, you’re right.” She looked back at them, and announced with the same enthusiasm: “A _bambi_ lesbian!” 

Larry cleared his throat. “She’s gay… for deer?” 

“Hah! No, but that’d be fucked up, am I right?” The kid bellowed out a girlish giggle. Rita hated how she talked with her mouth full, the snapping and licking and general chewing sounded made it feel like Rita was listening to nails on a chalkboard. 

“Bambi lesbians don’t do the sex thing,” the kid clarified. “They’re more into the, uhm...” Her eyelashes fluttered and her gaze slightly dropped to the floor. Rita and Larry exchanged a look. “They’re into… the, uh, lovey-dovey romantic... ssstufffffff.” Despite the sentence not ending with a _p,_ she popped a wet one anyways— _“pahp”_ —and tried to actually pop her bubblegum, but instead of blowing a bubble, it was pushed out of her mouth. It landed on the floor, but Flit made no attempt to catch it or to cover up her mistake.

They awkwardly waited for her to continue. The girl was clearly distracted, staring into nothingness, mouth slightly agape. Was she _listening_ to something? Rita could hear her muttering words, but it was too quiet to make out. Then the young woman—or at least, Rita thought she sounded so—started flicking her head to the side, as if fighting off a thought. Or a voice. Or another person inside her. 

Finally, Rita broke. Silence only served to make her listen to her thoughts, and Rita couldn’t deal with that right now. “... Jane doesn’t strike me as a romantic,” she murmured. “Or as _modest.”_ She added the last part with more poison at the edge of her voice. 

The girl sniffled. “She doesn’t… she’s not . . .” And suddenly, her form rippled. 

The newbie wasn’t Jane, this one had knitted brows even before she glared at Rita and Larry and somehow her scowl was deeper than Jane’s had ever been. This one immediately grunted out something, but Rita thought it was more to herself than any of them.

“Stupid _fucking_ kid, always running her mouth!”

Larry glanced at Rita again. “Jane?”

Presumably-Not-Jane grabbed him by the shirt and his feet were taken off the ground. “You ever talk about what you shitstains heard today,” she hissed into his bandages, “and Jane won’t need us to kill you, she’ll do it herself!” 

Not-Jane pushed Larry into the fridge, dropping him from her super-strengthened grasp. She only offered a side-eye to Rita, like Larry was the real threat and she was merely his dainty girlfriend. She shoved Rita out of the way so she could take the margarita into her own hands. 

“Jane, give that back!” Rita demanded.

The stranger snarled at Rita and downed it entirely. Rita stood, frozen in place, glaring at this— this fucking _heathen_ Niles let live with them!

Not-Jane let the glass slip from her hands, storming out of the room right before it crashed on the ground.

“And it’s fucking _Hammerhead!”_

Rita waited until she heard the slam of Jane’s door. Quickly, she put her hand on Larry’s shoulder, her brows knitting in concern. “Are you alright?”

Larry looked down at his chest. Finding no glow of blue, he sighed in relief. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he stammered out. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Rita breathed back. She glanced at the counters, still dirtied with the things she didn’t bother putting back. “... Margarita?”

“I’m… tired, Rita. And Jane’s not playing her music anymore, so, I-I just think I’m going to go to bed. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” She smiled weakly and pressed a platonic kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Larry.”

He couldn’t smile at her, so he instead matched her gentle note of warmth. “Goodnight, Rita.”

She watched him leave. And then watched where he had disappeared from. Slowly, she gathered her wits; a ruffian would not get the best of Rita Farr!

Frustrating, loud, and eccentric, yes. But Rita would be damned if _endearing_ wasn’t on that list as well. If Jane and her had to exist side by side, then it would do good to grow even a fickle friendship. As far as Rita was concerned, whoever could do that to Crazy Jane deserved a round of applause, and Rita always thirsted for approval like that again. Besides, Hammerhead just wouldn’t make do. Jane was tired and rude, but at least she didn’t have superstrength! Or any ability, really! That would come in handy if Rita triggered her or generally made her angry.

Rita couldn’t work with Hammerhead. But she could try to get along with Jane.

So, she hid away the leftover makings of her cocktail, only after making another one. The confident stomp of her heels went from the kitchen to in front of Jane’s door. Larry had been right about the first Not-Jane turning off Jane’s music and Rita was thankful for that. Hammerhead should be able to hear her, and hopefully she would thank Rita by letting Jane back into the fold. 

Rita knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Hammerhead? I made you another margarita, since you liked mine so much,” she yelled, as politely as she could manage. Pure silence answered her. “Hammerhead?” Rita knocked again. “... Jane?”

Rita waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. She frowned and twisted the knob, forcing herself into Jane’s room. She stomped inside, but stopped in her tracks. 

It was almost completely bare, safe for Jane’s record player. The blankets on Jane’s bed were tousled carelessly and for some reason, her pillow was in the corner. A small book sat on it, likely given to Jane by the Chief. There were drawings on Jane’s walls, some professional and beautifully abstract, others childish and in crayons, but Rita didn’t see any art supplies set around. What’s worse is that there was nobody inside.

Rita ventured outside Jane’s room and walked until she found what she was looking for. The front door to Doom Manor was laying down on the doorsteps, as if pushed to the ground, and hard tracks lined the pathway from the concrete to the grass to the road.

Hammerhead was going into the city.

Rita didn’t savor her margarita.


	2. Smother Them With Fancy Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s… Jane,” Larry said. Rita looked back down at her plate. He sighed louder this time. “We’re going to have to apologize to xyr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings! Homophobia, transphobia, ableism, probably more, you have been warned, ask to tag <33

_1978, the following night_

Rita stirred the fork around her plate. Larry watched it move from the seat opposing her own. He couldn’t eat wrapped up in his bandages, but he usually got some phantom enjoyment from watching Rita and the Chief eat his dinners. This time, though, Rita suspected he’d stayed for a different reason, and was now regretting it altogether.

Rita suppressed her inner sigh. Right now, she typically devoured whatever beautiful concution her friend had lovingly prepared; tonight, it was chicken legs, seasoned pepper salad and steamed broccoli and cauliflower. For dessert, he made chocolate chip brownies, their new housemate’s favorite, just to get on her good side after the pronoun talk. If it were a normal day, Rita would be throwing him compliment after compliment as she ravished the thing, and he would giggle as if blushing under his bandages. It was their daily routine for every meal, only sometimes having the Chief to laugh along with. Rita’s hunger was a never-ending war, after all, and Larry’s honed cooking skills came in handy for a woman that was never taught how to do it on her own. Today proved different than most. Because of course it did.

Rita stabbed a piece of broccoli.

Don’t get her wrong. She would give anything to swallow the dinner whole, plate and all! After the events of that day, though, her appetite seemed to be dwindling. Maybe it was the pride churning in her gut or the impatience for Jane’s return, but the thought of gorging herself like she usually did only brought about thoughts of disgust. 

She made no attempt to bring the broccoli to her lips.

Larry’s legs uncomfortably shifted in place. “Okay, what’s wrong?” he finally asked. “Are you mad at me or something?”

“No, I’m not _mad_ at you!” Rita snapped.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he waved his hands in front of himself. “I just… know how you are. I know something’s wrong. Is it because of what I said earlier? I-I can do better, I’ll, uh— I can get you a pronoun pin like Jane’s, or make you a super girly breakfast! Sorry, _womanly_ breakfast. Or do you— do you want some flowers? I can get into gardening, you know—”

“Larry, you don’t have to do anything for me,” Rita said quickly. “You did nothing wrong.” After a moment, she bit her lip. “... Some roses _would_ be nice, though.”

“I’ll ask Niles for some seeds.”

Rita smiled. “Thanks.”

“Anything,” Larry breathed softly. “You know that. I mean, you’re kind of my best friend.”

“... Well. I, uh, I suppose... you might be mine, too.”

Another bout of silence overtook the room. Rita nipped at a piece of meat and Larry watched her quietly. Rita nodded in approval, and he nodded back at her. She could hear his small sigh.

“Now, what’s wrong with you?” Rita asked, in the most gentle way you could say that. 

He took a minute to respond. “It’s… Jane,” he said. Rita looked back down at her plate. He sighed louder this time. “We’re going to have to apologize to xyr,” he reasoned. “Xe’s going to be living with us and xe walked in on xyr roommates talking about xem behind xyr back!”

“How the hell did you get so good at these pronouns already?”

“I practiced in between my nap. And don’t change the subject,” he said. “We just met her and her… _others._ If we let them think we don’t believe they’re real, then they’ll hate us. This is supposed to be a safe space for people like us, right? Well, they’re people like us.” He shook his head. “It’s only polite, Rita.”

“... I know,” she whispered. “Trust me, I know.”

They looked at each other, the anxious feel in the air parting for the first time since they gathered for dinner, and Rita caught what she thought may have been dimples from smiles ever-slightly pushing on his bandages— but then a sound came to ruin their rekindled ease.

Something wooden near the front of the house thumped and hit the ground repeatedly. A woman was grunting out curses to whatever it was. Rita and Larry’s expressions immediately cringed; Rita put down her fork, while Larry stood up and tried to get a good look at the doorway without leaving the table.

“Jane?” Rita called out, unsure what they would even do if it wasn’t one of her who answered back. Nobody ever bothered the Manor before. With Niles away on some important business or what-have-you (Rita may automatically tune him out as soon as he says that weird adventurer oath of his, even if she could recite it by heart), how could they defend themselves? Rita was a woman, so obviously she’d be the prime target especially if this were a man breaking in, and if Larry’s bandages were somehow cut, Rita knew the radiation would both save their lives and end her own. 

“Come on, hun, you’re not gonna get that bloody door to stick,” laughed a cheery, shy voice, feminine and accented. It wasn’t like Rita’s accent, no, this was actually foreign she guessed it was English. “Just forget about it, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby,” came another voice, a familiar one that spit venom and held strong against, well, anything.

Rita let out a sigh of relief and Larry’s shoulders slumped in the same.

“Jane?” Larry yelled. “Uh, I-I made brownies, if you want any! They’re not what you usually go for, but they are chocolate chip.”

Rita forced a collected smile when Hammerhead passed the kitchen, her middle finger raised towards both of them. Draped on her arm, there was another person, a young woman with smooth ginger hair. The woman smiled sweetly at Larry and then at Rita, who she offered an awkward wave. 

Rita nodded her chin in greeting towards the random stranger. “Hammerhead, who’s this?” 

“Her name is mind your fucking business,” Hammerhead barked back with contempt. She turned away from them and tried to drag the girl on with her, but the woman she’d brought seemed iffy about being so rude to the pair. The nameless ginger retracted herself from Hammerhead’s arm and strolled into the kitchen.

“I-I’m Penelope!” She held out her hand in front of Larry. He shook her hand, and she pretended not to be weirded out by the feel of his covers against her white skin.

“And why, Hammerhead,”—Rita felt her voice strain—“is Penelope here?”

Hammerhead glared at Rita. Instead of replying, she simply rolled her eyes, snorted at Penelope, and walked off deeper into the hallway. 

Penelope frowned, clearly nervous about whether she should follow Hammerhead or answer Rita. She decided on covering her tracks “Uhm, me and… H-Hammerhead, yeah, we’re friends! You two are her roommates, right? Lovely to meet you. Hammerhead and I have been best friends since, like, diapers!” she laughed like a strangled chicken. “W-We’re just, um, havin’ a girls night. Would you like to join us, Rita? Any friend of my bestie HH is a friend of mine, too!” 

“... Friends,” Larry drawled. “Sure.”

Penelope opened her mouth to say something, though Rita doubted she would have anything to defend herself. They never got to find out.

“Penny!” Hammerhead yowled gruffly. 

Penelope turned like Hammerhead calling her name was a god-send. She waved, feigning a sorry look, at Larry and Rita before she ran out of the kitchen.

“My name’s actually Penelope,” Rita faintly heard Penelope mumble.

Hammerhead scoffed, “You wouldn’t have known my name if that rich bitch didn’t say it.”

“Is she really rich?”

Rita scowled. She harshly took a chicken leg into her hand and tore a piece of, her resentment ramping up her appetite. Larry was still on his feet for a few moments, looking back from Rita to the door, but slowly retook his seat. After barely chewing on her food, Rita swallowed a big gulp of it and growled slightly under her breath.

“What are we going to do?”

Larry stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“The one before Hammerhead said there were more lesbians inside Jane. Hammerhead and that girl are obviously not besties, Larry. They’re going to have sex!”

“I— good for them?” Larry tilted his head. “I don’t see the problem.”

“It’s fucking _illegal!_ Our home is about to be a crime scene! What if someone finds out, what if someone saw them leave together, what if they weren’t subtle?! Do you want to end up in prison for abetting a criminal offense, Larry, because I sure don’t!”

Larry glared at the table. “... Rita, do you hate gay people?”

“What? No! How could you possibly think that?”

“You won’t stop trying to police Jane’s being gay.”

“That’s because if I don’t, _actual_ police will!” 

Larry folded his arms. He wouldn’t look at her. “Just… stay out of it, Rita.”

The order in his tone made her scowl. She pushed her plate towards him and got on her feet, placing her hands on her hips and scoffing at him. The stomp of her heels echoed throughout the hallway. 

Rita reached Jane’s door within a moment’s notice and quickly pushed it open. The room hadn’t changed one bit; including its vacancy.

“This is fucking stupid!” Hammerhead was saying somewhere down the hall. 

“You’re a pottymouth, you know that, HH?” giggled her hook-up.

Rita pinpointed where the sound must be coming from. Her steps were quicker, filled with purpose, as her annoyance shifted into anger.

She threw open the door and an outraged scream escaped her throat. “What the _fuck_ are you doing in _my_ room?!”

Penelope flinched as soon as the door thrust to reveal them. Hammerhead groaned, hilting her head into her legs, which were pulled up to her chest. She was using the end of Rita’s bed as a backrest. Penelope, meanwhile, was in front of Rita’s mirror, right next to her collection of jewellery boxes; all of which were now scattered across the table, safe for the ones that were wrapped around Penelope.

“W-We were just, um,”—Penelope stammered for air, more likely an explanation, going silent for a tense second—“h-havin’ a bit of fun! Girls night, after all, you know how it is, don’t ya? M-Maybe you don’t, that’s okay! I’m sorry, just f-friends having some fun—”

Rita suddenly snarled, interrupting Penelope’s anxiety-ridden wordsoup. “I know you’re fucking gay! I don’t care what you are, you’re about to commit a fucking crime in _my room,_ I don’t agree with it being considered a ‘crime’ at all but it’s still the law so if you must break it, do _it_ in a place that is not my house, much less my fucking _room!”_

Penelope’s face went white at her words. Terror sparked in her gaze and her legs started without her really knowing it. In an instant, Penelope pushed Rita out of her way and was speeding down the hall, breathing wildly and Rita thought she might have seen tears in those eyes— eyes that had been so, _so_ scared that Rita knew. Rita knew that fear, that all-consuming shock mixed with shame that threatened to overwhelm at any given time. It was the same feeling Rita felt every time she looked in the mirror, every time somebody told her she wasn’t ‘ladylike’ enough for a role as a child, every fucking _time;_ every second of every day, no matter how many distractions she indulged in, it was always there. Sometimes it was quiet and muffled, others it was the only thing she could think about. 

She detested that feeling, oh how she loathed that frequent little demon. Rita hated being the reason it was sprung upon anyone else.

Rita shook her head and tried to call out an apology, but her selfishness overtook her voice as a realization hit her. _“My jewelry!”_

The high pitch of her own cry was almost enough to cover the sound of a certain ripple. Rita managed to hear it, though, and quickly whirled around to see if Jane was back yet. There was no body slouched at the back of her bed anymore, but Rita saw the flash of a reddish blurr tripping by Rita. Whoever it was was too fast, Rita barely heard the thunder of their shoes as it apparently zipped right in front of Penelope. 

The alter grabbed Penelope by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “C-Can we, like, have the s-stuff back, please?” 

Penelope screamed at the top of her lungs. Rita’s jewelry was thrown into Not-Hammerhead’s arms and Penelope almost knocked herself over trying to get away. Running out the door, Rita caught up to whoever was in Jane’s body now, and watched thoughtlessly as Penelope began sobbing into the night, her feet carrying the poor girl away from Doom Manor.

Not-Jane took a minute to catch her breath. “Hi,” is all she could manage without a stutter. She held the necklaces and bracelets and rings out for Rita to take. Rita snatched them from her and held them close to her chest, wondering how easily this speedster could rob her blind. She would not allow whoever this was—another brute, no doubt!—to take what was left of her old life.

“Who are you?” Rita demanded.

Penny blinked, having to process Rita’s harsh sentence after the fact, given its slurred speed. “I-I’m Penny! P-Penny Farthing—”

 _“Penny?”_ Rita’s eyes snapped wide. “Are you— were you just made? Are you based on that girl Hammerhead brought over, is that something you can do?!”

“U-Um, y-yeah, like, uh, like…” Penny sighed, swift and choked. “Basically, yes, it is something that can happen, b-but I’m not, uhm— I’m not Penelope. I’ve, like, existed for, uh… like, a while, now? Uh, I’m— I’m 30, a-and I’ve— I-I grew up, from like a kid, like a— a _little_ kid, like, I had to have a m-mom and… s-stuff, uh, so, before… 1976, I was 30 in ’76, and we’re not aging anymore, so I’m 30 in ’78, w-which, y’know, is, like, current events—” 

Rita put finger to Penny’s mouth. “Then _why_ are you so similar to Penelope? You even have the same accent!”

“Maybe, uhm, H-Hammerhead has a type?” Penny offered weakly. Her voice was so high, it almost hurt to listen to. “We’re, um… w-we’re working on— on some th… th-things, uhm, can I go now?”

At her question, Rita finally heaved. Jane must want the body back, right? At least then, the only thing Rita would have to worry about is loud metal music. “God, yes, _please_ do,” she breathed with exhaustion painting her tone.

“Thank you,” Penny gasped. She blurred instantly and that flash of black clothes sped about for a second before the slam of a door sounded in Rita’s ears. Rita’s shoulders jumped and she quickly looked around. A few seconds passed before she realized what the fuck she had just seen.

Rita looked at the bathroom door that had slammed for a moment too long. Near it laid that book Rita had seen in Jane’s room earlier that day. She guessed that brit Penny had dropped it in her superspeed. 

In that moment, Rita understood. Hammerhead had screwed up by bringing Penelope here, so it must have been Penny’s turn to puppet their body. Hammerhead’s purpose was to bring on the war while Penny was the escape plan. 

Jane wasn’t coming back yet.

Rita went to scream into her pillow, but Penny had taken that, too. 

_How the fuck does Jane deal with them all taking whatever they want, when they want?_ She started reorganizing her accessories, but the sudden thought made her shake her head. _You’d think the only real one would be treated with some fucking respect!_

_1978, the morning after_

When she found herself inside a showertub, her groan came out as a low whisper. Her face found her palms and her eyes remained closed for some time. The back of her head thumped on the shower walls before she dimly let her eyelids flutter. 

“I can’t believe you’ve already fucked me over,” she sighed to nobody in particular. “First time we’re living in an apartment building since Miranda, and you go and pull this bullshit? You’re going to get us thrown in another mental hospital. That’s my fucking job!” 

Jane stared at the whiteness of it all, taking the time to ground her persona in the skin she called her own. 

Finally, dark eyes locked on the book in her hands and the pillow between her back and the bathtub. “And whose shit is this?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speaking of super girly, if any of you fucking nerds are also fans of the Arrowverse, be sure to check out my new Psimra Supergirl fic archiveofourown.org/works/29460648 !!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so impatient for this series guys holy shit. Anyways you can expect the next chapter as soon as I can muster up the energy, which honestly is always a wildcard so I'll find out when you do!! I repeat: feel free to comment whatever canon compliant scenario you can imagine! Hope you enjoyed, hotties


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